


Crushed Ice

by ProtectWeirdBlackGirls (GettingOverShame)



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: A little character exploration/backstorying, F/F, Family, Family Bonding, First Crush, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kadroh is Wrong Hordak, Light Angst, Literally Just A Long Conversation, Minor Character(s), Parenthood, Post-Canon, Puberty Hitting Frosta Like a Brick to the Face, Should Have Quit After The First Chapter, will add more character tags as i go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27543400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GettingOverShame/pseuds/ProtectWeirdBlackGirls
Summary: Frosta eyed the three suspiciously for a moment longer before relenting. “Fine,” she said, uncrossing her arms and sighing, “it’s Perfuma and Scorpia. They’re a couple now.” The king and wedded Princesses watched her silently, waiting for her to continue. “So, they don’t want to be friends with me anymore.”ORThe one where Micah, Netossa, and Spinnerella help Frosta to unpack her emotions.(Set in the world/timeline of "Intimacy Log" by Lady_Kit).
Relationships: Netossa/Spinnerella (She-Ra)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 61





	1. Emotional Thaw

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Intimacy Log](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24322372) by [Lady_Kit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Kit/pseuds/Lady_Kit), [Unladylike (Lady_Kit)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Kit/pseuds/Unladylike). 



> This fic is my interpretation of what was going on with Frosta, Micah, and SpinNetossa during chapters 15-21 of "Intimacy Log" by Lady_Kit. If you haven't already read it please go do so now!  
> It is officially my Heart Canon and no one can say otherwise. (If you have qualms about the Entrapdak ship, this may not be your cup of tea.)

"And then," Spinnerella snickered, "you posed in the dirt as if you had fallen on purpose!" She dabbed tears from her eyes with the napkin she found folded underneath her now-empty mug. She, Micah, and Netossa had spent the afternoon in the dining room reminiscing - and laughing - about their youthful shenanigans at the Plumerian flower festival. The three of them occupied seats at one end of the great table.

"What?" Micah gaped at the woman seated directly across from him, his shoulders shuddering with his own barely-contained laughter, "I don't remember that!"

At the head of the table the Queen’s seat loomed on Micah’s left. He would usually find the spot achingly empty. They all would. But at the moment the space was filled by hearty laughter that reverberated off of the chair's tall back and from the high ceilings. The aches they felt were of sore facial and stomach muscles overworked after much too long a respite; thirty-two years of war. The scale of which turned out to be much larger than any of them had imagined when they had first heard rumours from the Scorpion Kingdom. Even larger still than when they had come of age and decidedly led their own Kingdoms and Citadels into battle. A decision that had come too late.

Once-loyal friends had turned enemies. Peers, family members, and lovers alike were killed or captured on masse. As morale vanished, so did military allies. Eventually they came to accept the new _Fright Zone_ as a permanent fixture on their maps. There was simply a new borderline to be defended; they had reassured themselves. Even as they allowed skirmishes and raids to continue on their outlands. Even as they slowly depleted the royal coffers by giving relief funds - _not payoffs_ \- to the displaced. Many Princesses and Princes remained so only in title; having had to become vassals of larger neighbouring kingdoms, or living in exile as the Horde conquered their lands. Even so, they had chosen to remain in denial about the ever-encroaching enemy forces. They had chosen to keep their subjects as blissfully ignorant as they responsibly could have. Everyone had known that they were in a state of war but there was no sense in inciting a panic, they had reasoned then.

But now the She-Ra had returned to Etheria after a millennia, as did the fullness of the planet's magical life-force. The intergalactic Horde was finally defeated and Horde Prime destroyed. Peace treaties were signed. Restoration projects were underway. And for the first time in decades, celebrations and ceremonies could be enjoyed without the cognitive dissonance required to merrymake as their lands were pillaged and their people suffered. Even as the three royals chatted in Brightmoon Castle, the neighbouring Kingdom of Plumeria was in the midst of their sacred solstice tradition. After years of strategic withdrawal and quiet observance, the flower festival was finally going to be celebrated in its full magnitude; but moreover it was finally going to be celebrated in peace. Not that there was anything _peaceful_ about the wild long days and mischievous short nights - not if the previous generation of Princesses and consorts had anything to do with it. In fact many of the bans and restrictions of the modern-day flower festival were implemented in hindsight of escapades gone awry. One of which was the current subject of conversation, which had Netossa doubled over and clutching her stomach.

"Yes, you totally did! Spinny and I," she leaned on her wife's shoulder for balance, "were watching you two the whole time from up on the ledge." 

"That's where you two came from?" mirth and surprise radiated from Micah's face, "I thought you came from the yurts after hearing the er… light show I conjured."

"You mean the explosion?" Spinnerella shot back. And they all burst into uncontrollable cackling laughter again. When they finally settled enough to catch their breath, it was Netossa who spoke first.

"Please, Micah! What did you think? She was going to meet some random sorcerer in the Plumerian woods in the middle of the night _without_ asking for backup?"

"We were friends!" 

"For two weeks," she countered, "and besides we were all kinda stoned by the time we found the creepy-ass note you left _on her pillow_."

"Hey! Angie thought it was romantic!” Micah defended, “she ended up keeping- Although," he interrupted himself, "there was this one time, after we were married, I found the note in her drawer," a chuckle rumbled up from his chest, "she said that she initially kept it just in case she needed evidence before Mystacor's Tribunal for my permanent," he broke into wheezing laughter, "permanent confinement to the city's borders! She made it sound like she was just teasing, but now that I know..." They all roared again, as Micah shook his head and buried his face into his hands.

"How did you even find us?" asked Spinnerella. “Angella told us that she didn't give you directions to where the royal party was camped. And we teleported as a group to and from events."

"Well, I-” he was cut off by the sound of a shattering window overhead, sending a cascade of colourful glass to the floor around them.

Netossa, Spinnerella, and Micah were already in battle-ready stances as a large, crystalline orb came crashing down on the table before them; one of it’s sharp edges jutting out and destroying the chair that the king had occupied seconds ago. Spinnerrella swept away debris and cleared the cloudy air with one motion. And as Netossa created a barricade of nets around them, Micah’s fists glowed with magic ready to fire. The orb cracked open with a hiss and out slid a short blue-haired figure on a cushion of fluffy snow.

"I'm okay!" Frosta groaned.

\- -

Spinnerella knelt and bandaged the Princess of Snows’ hand as Netossa held the rest of the small medical kit kept in the kitchens. Frosta was seated on a chair between them looking mildly embarrassed. Micah was busy magically collecting and reassembling shards of the ceiling’s stained glass window, all the while looking just as sheepish. It was partially his fault that Frosta had made such an ungraceful entrance.

Between catching-up with his daughter, and the "Talking Circles for Justice and Peace" meetings, Micah became privy to the fact that Princess Entrapta - formerly known as the Beast Island food bandit - had attempted to drain Etheria’s elemental runestones of their power by hacking the Black Garnet. Furthermore, he had learned that his former mentor ~~Light Spin~~ _Shadow Weaver_ had not only tortured his daughter, thereby severing her connection to the Moonstone, but she had also later used the Moonstone’s power - and used Glimmer as a conduit for it - to amplify her own spellcasting. Two things became abundantly clear to the dowager king of Brightmoon in that moment: the Moonstone must be protected more carefully, and Shadow Weaver was lucky to have died before he was made aware of these events. There was nothing to be done about the latter epiphany, however as for the former… He set about to create a protection spell like no other. He fused elements of locator spells, and kinship-bond magic, alongside a potpourri of classic security enchantments to encase the runestone in an invisible shield. If anyone whom the Moonstone had not chosen attempted to touch it - physically or otherwise - they would be magically repelled away from the forcefield and compelled towards the Queen herself, or the most proximal of her next-of-kin. In this case, it was Micah.

“And that should be it,” he said as the edges of the last fragment glowed in its place, fusing itself into the glass mosaic. Turning to face the women who were busy tending to Frosta's mildly scalded fingers, he winced a little and smiled apologetically to the young ruler of Snows. “Sorry about that, again. I might have gone a little overboard with the spell’s potency,” he said, using one hand to rub the back of his neck. “When Glimmer gets back from the flower festival she and I will modify it. We can't be sending people through walls if they accidentally make contact with the stone.” He chuckled then startled as he suddenly realized that maybe it hadn’t been a lucky coincidence that he had gotten to witness so many phoenix-pigeons be reborn this past Spring.

"No, it’s my fault,” Frosta confessed, “I shouldn’t have tried to touch the Moonstone. I thought maybe-” she seemed to change her mind about finishing that sentence, and shrugged instead, “I just wanted to see what would happen."

“What are you doing out here, anyway?” Netossa asked, setting down the first-aid kit on the table beside her, “I thought you’d be at the flower festival with the Queen and the other Princesses.”

"Well... why aren't _you_ at the flower festival?" Frosta deflected.

Micah chuckled as he answered for the group. 

“We’ve experienced plenty of peace-time flower festivals before the war,” he gestured to himself and the couple smirking roguishly behind him, “we all figured that it was time to give the new generation of Princesses space to experience the festivities for themselves.” Vivid memories of noonday drinking contests and midnight skinny-dipping passed before his mind’s eye. The other two appeared to be lost in the same reverie. He shook his head and continued, “but you’re right in that it _is_ quite a big deal for Plumeria. The first flower festival that is truly open to _all_ Etheria in decades. Perfuma must be ecstatic about it. I'm sure that she’s missing you right now. You _are_ one of her closest friends."

Frosta scoffed. "Yeah, right! She probably won't have time to miss me. She'll be too busy doing sex things with Scorpia." 

Spinnerella’s eyebrows shot up, and Netossa bit her lips to keep from laughing. Micah sputtered, "H-? Where-?"

"I'm _thirteen_ Micah," she sat up straight and glared at him cooly, "I know about sex." Her expression was nearly completely stoic but for the redness that crept to her cheeks.

"Yes. O-of course. What I meant was that," he cleared his throat, "I don't know where you got that idea from. No one goes there just to do that."

Netossa squinted, hummed at a high pitch, and pursed her lips together, “Wellll…”

Spinnerella caught her wife’s hand in a vice-grip. "Let Micah finish, darling," she smiled too widely, as her face became a darker shade of pink.

"Right,” Micah said, sparing the pair a skeptical glance, “like I was saying. Sex isn't what the flower festival is about." He fell into his story-telling tone as the excitement and nostalgia overtook him. “The Plumerian flower festival marks the week of the summer solstice. The Kingdom of Plumeria extends their hospitality and welcomes to their lands those who wish to join all nature in the grand transition from a time of renewal and recovery-"

"To a time of joy and growth,” Frosta recited flatly, “Princess Perfuma already told me. Sounds like humidity and sleep deprivation. No thanks.”

“Oh,” Micah said, shrinking back. He moved his mouth searching for a counter-argument that never came.

"Okay, yeah," Netossa conceded, "maybe stuff like humidity, and fire smoke up in your eyes, and bug frenzies are not your thing. Believe it or not, I get that." Netossa ignored her wife's open giggling, "but what makes it all worth it is getting to experience all the _good_ stuff with your friends." 

"The Winter's Bane has no friends."

"Pardon?" Spinnerella asked earnestly, stepping forward and leaning down to be in earshot.

"Nothing." The Princess of Snows crossed her arms.

"I'm sorry, Frosta, we just couldn't hear yo-"

"I just don't want to go to the flower festival, okay!?" Frosta snapped. She looked away so that she didn't have to face their reactions to her outburst. She didn't care, her internal voice reassured, she was mad at them, _not_ herself. In her peripheral Frosta saw that Spinnerella hadn’t flinched away. Instead the older woman stayed waiting patiently for her to continue. "Geez," she sneered, "and I thought Sea Hawk was the in-your-face one."

Oh, that had done it. Netossa stepped between them.

"Alright. Fine. Don't go to the flower festival. No one's going to force you. But the question remains," she crossed her arms and leaned down to eye-level with the seated Princess, "why are you here?"

It was at that moment that Frosta realized her mistake. Caught off guard, she tried to employ the same evasive tactic as before, "Why are _you_ here?" 

"Micah lives here. He invited Spinny and I over for tea. Your turn." She watched unblinkingly as the Princess of Snows squirmed beneath her scrutiny, until she felt a soft touch on her elbow. Netossa met the pleading eyes of her wife and instantly softened. She sighed deeply.

"Look, Frost. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that," Netossa spoke remarkably compassionately, as she pulled up a chair to straddle it backwards, "but can you please just cut the crap already, and tell us what's going on? Are you mad at us or something?"

"I'm not mad at _you_.” Frosta murmured.

“But you _are_ angry with someone.” Spinnerrella interjected, pulling up a chair to sit next to her wife with Micah standing at her side looking worried.

Frosta eyed the three suspiciously for a moment longer before relenting. “Fine,” she said, uncrossing her arms and sighing, “it’s Perfuma and Scorpia. They’re a couple now.” The king and wedded Princesses watched her silently, waiting for her to continue. “So, they don’t want to be friends with me anymore.”

Shocked silence settled around the room.

“Oh, dear.” Micah ecked out.

\- -

“They said,” Netossa paused every few words in angry incredulity, “that they don’t want to be your friends anymore? Because they’re a couple? These bi-”

“They didn’t say it,” Frosta conceded, “but they don’t have to. I know how this goes. They get together all lovey-dovey and then boom,” she conjured a small cascade of snow flurries above her head for emphasis, “suddenly I don’t exist anymore. Classic adults.”

“Oh, Frosta," Spinnerella comforted, "I'm sure that Perfuma and Scorpia don't think that. Netossa and I are _married_ , but we still value your friendship.”

“Yeah, but that’s different! You two are _ol_ -” Frosta caught herself and flushed, “ _ol-_ ways together anyway." Netossa smirked with barely-hidden amusement, and Micah snorted a laugh which he promptly changed into a cough at Spinnerella's glare. "And, sure, you two are all mushy and gross sometimes, but - it’s not the same!"

“Not the same as what?” Netossa cut through the subtext. The Ice Princess began to clamp up nervously again. "Come on, Frost..." she coaxed gently.

“Okay. But you have to promise not to tell! And you," she pointed an accusatory finger at Micah, "have to promise not to take her side.”

"I promise," both women said in unison.  
“You have my word.” Micah sang with a dramatic flourish that was just short of Seahawk-worthy bravado.

“It… it's Glimmer. We used to be best friends when I first joined the alliance. And even after she went all dark,” Micah flinched at that, “she was still my best friend."

"But?"

"But ever since she got together with Bow, she's changed.” She had half expected some sort of negative response or denial to her admission, but none came. Even Micah had remained quiet and attentive, listening without judgement. So she went on, “at first I thought it was because she got captured by the Alt-Horde-Mega-Boss, so I gave her some _'space and time'_ like Perfuma said I should," the older three nodded their approval, "and I just promised her that I’d cheer her up with a game of iceball when all the fighting was over and we won."

"That was very thoughtful of you," Spinnerella remarked endearingly.

“Yeah," Frosta smiled wistfully as she remembered how Glimmer had teared up and hugged her. _'Thanks,'_ Glimmer had said then. And at that moment Frosta had felt like she could have taken down the entire intergalactic Horde army single handedly. But as quickly as that memory had appeared, others soon followed which soured her mood. 

She twisted her face into a scowl and continued, "but every time I followed up, she'd say that she wouldn't have the time for me to teach her how to play. Last time I asked was after our _"Justice and Peace"_ check-in meeting; she said that she'd be busy with paperwork. But then, later” her voice broke, “I heard her laughing in the West courtyard with Bow.”

“Are you sure it wa-”

“I saw them. _Kissing._ ” She shuddered and grimaced.

“Oh,” Micah stood back. "I didn't know they were doing that now," he muttered to himself quietly, "Glimmer knows she can talk to me-"

"Well, what did she say when you confronted her?" Netossa cut in, redirecting the conversation.

“Well…” she blushed, “by then it didn't matter because I was already busy teaching Emily how to skate down the hallway on ice really fast,” her eyes widened and she quickly added, “as a way of testing how quickly she can learn a new skill. Because Bots are part of the new trade agreement between the Kingdom of Snows and Dryl. Of course. Official business,” she concluded, puffing her chest and crossing her arms.

“Right.”

“So anyway." Frosta moved on quickly, "It didn’t really bother me that time because, you know,” she waved her hands and rolled her eyes, “plans change all the time. That's just what being a Princess is like." The three adults nodded and murmured their agreement. Everyone looked at Micah askance. "But what I don't get," Frosta went on, "is that it’s been months, and _Queen_ Glimmer always has a meeting or mission or something to rush off to when I ask to hang out but _somehow,_ " she began to ramble as she got angrier, "she _always_ has time to walk along the gardens, and stare at the stars, and make googly eyes with _Bow_ ." The trio of adults shared humoured glances at just how true that statement was. Recently, Spinnerella and Netossa had accidentally _gotten even_ with Glimmer for an untimely teleportation incident a few years ago. How the tables had turned. But Frosta, unaware of their shared amusement, continued with her rant.

"And _now_ ,” she seethed, “in spite of the _stack of reports_ on her desk, she still has time to take a _week off_ to go to Plumeria with him, and Adora, and… and Catra,” suddenly her voice had become very small. “Even Catra can get cheek kisses, and cool nicknames like _'Horde Scum'_ ,” Netossa quirked an eyebrow at that, “and be part of her _Best Friends Squad._ I’m not jealous," she added after a short pause, "but that’s not fair.” The young ruler of Snows set her jaw to keep her lower lip from quivering, and blinked rapidly. She looked away, steeling herself for their responses. 

"You're right. It's _not_ fair." Micah scratched his chin, then perked up, "Tell you what. I'll talk to Glimmer-"

"No! You promised that you wouldn't tell!"

"And I won't!” He rested his hand above his heart, “King’s honour. I was just going say that _I_ haven't played iceball in a while either, and that I would love to spend some quality time with my daughter, too. You can teach us both - the ol' noggin sometimes forgets" he said tapping a finger to his temple and winking, "After I get _tired_ you two can keep on playing without me. How does that sound?"

"Weirdly obvious."

"We can _all_ play," Spinnerella offered, " 'Tossa can set up the net for us. It can be the two of us intermediate players against two novices and an expert. And if Scorpia, and Perfuma - or any one else - wants to join," Spinnerella quickly added when she saw Frosta's eyebrows furrow, "we'll just mix up the teams. But we can make sure that you and Glimmer always stay on the same side," she concluded with a proud smile.

"Yeah," Netossa wrapped her arms around her wife's waist and smirked, "and Spinny and I can _stay_ on the _same team_ , too. _Against_ the other team. For real this time." She murmured the last part into Spinnerella's ear.

"Don't be petty, darling." Spinnerella whispered just before kissing her wife's cheek.

"I mean, I guess that's okay,” Frosta shrugged. “I just kinda wish that Glimmer wanted to play with _just_ me." At that Netossa's eyebrows sprung up as the pieces came together in her mind. Frosta’s displaced anger and trying to connect with the Moonstone…

Netossa sent a meaningful look to her wife, and soon Spinnerella's eyes became alight with understanding. They both turned to Micah who looked wounded.

"Do kids… not like conspiring anymore?"

Spinnerella bit back her smile and Netossa lowered her face into her hand.

\- - 

“You know what Frosta?" Spinnerella began, "that makes a lot of sense." She scooted her chair nearer to the Princess of Snows and spoke with tender care. Frosta barred her suspicion just barely. "Being disappointed or feeling rejected by someone always hurts. But it's especially hard when that someone is _special_ to you."

"Psh, yeah," Frosta grumbled, "Glimmer's the _Queen of Brightmoon_. Of course she's special." 

"No- I mean. Yes. That is very important and special. But I meant that she may have been special _to you_ . In a personal, _special friendship_ kind of way."

"Yeah, she was my _best_ friend… weren't you listening?"

Spinnerella grit her teeth, but kept her voice kind. "Yes, I remember. But I was talking about a different kind of _special friend_ . It's like a best friend but also with a few more _feelings_ involved." Micah sucked in a quick breath. He beamed a sparkly-eyed, exuberant smile at Netossa, who gave a slight nod in response. Frosta narrowed her eyes and scrutinized them each in turn. 

“What do you mean?” she asked, resting her gaze back on the cyclone wielding Princess closest to her.

"Well with special friends the feeling of _wanting_ is strong. You might want to spend a lot of time with them, and want for them to pay attention to you. You might want to impress them, and make them feel happy - like they impress _you_ and make _you_ happy." Spinnerella noticed that Frosta had become fidgety, but she nevertheless continued on gently, "with most special friends, you would want them to feel the same way about you… to be _their_ special friend, too. They might make you feel nervous, or excited, or-"

"Feelings. I get it." Frosta kept her voice clipped and even. Nonetheless, she squirmed in her seat and was careful not to meet the eye of any one of the adults for too long. “So, if…" she probed hesitantly, "someone has these feelings for m- _their_ friend, how would they be able to stop them?”

“That’s just it, Frost',” Netossa chimed in, “you can’t. There's no way to force these feelings to appear, or to go away. No one can help the way that they feel.”

“But,” Spinnerella prodded with feigned innocence, “why would someone want to _stop_ feeling them?” 

“Because it hurts! I mean,” she backpedalled, “it _would_ hurt someone. If they have a _special friend_ who doesn’t feel the same way about them and feels that way about someone else instead, and then they become a couple with the other person and forget all about you, and,” she tried to swallow the lump in her throat but her voice quivered, “and then get _new_ best friends who are a couple, too. And then _all_ your friends become couples and they won’t...” Frosta’s voice died away and she buried her face into her sleeve. Micah stood up and knelt beside the young Princess, placing a hand on her trembling shoulder.

“It’s painful,” he began, “when we realize that our _special someone_ doesn't feel the same way about us. It might make it hard for us to believe in our other friendships, too… even if they're not _special friendships_ to us in the same way." He caught her gaze when she peeked up from her tearstained sleeve. “But that’s when we need our friends the most. To listen, and help us get through it.”

Frosta fixed her eyes to her lap, wrestling between fear, shame, and budding hope. "You just… you don’t understand.” She didn't yet want to concede that Micah might actually be right.

“Maybe I don’t,” he smiled and looked past her, "but I _do_ know a little something about pain. And of not being able to be with a best friend who's also your _special friend_." Frosta followed his gaze to a magnificent mural of Queen Angella painted behind the head of the dining table. He sniffled and she snapped her head back towards him just in time to see his eyes begin to well with tears. He paused and Frosta felt a measure of respect for him, and a twinge of regret for brushing him off so quickly earlier. "And I also know," he said gazing up at the two women holding hands, "how helpful it is to have faithful friends to talk to." They smiled warmly together, tears rolling down each of their cheeks, then Micah added, "even if they _are_ kind of gross and mushy sometimes.” Netossa stuck her tongue out at him, a gesture which he returned in kind. Spinnerella rolled her eyes and shook her head at them as she crouched at Frosta’s other side.

“Real best friends will make time for you,” the elder Princess said as she laid a hand on the younger girl’s other shoulder. “No matter if they have _special friends_ or not.”

“It’s like you said,” Netossa said, tucking herself into Micah’s side and draping her arm across his back and over to Frosta’s, “it's different with us ' **_ol-_ ** _ways together'_ people,” she shot the girl a smirking look. “But maybe it’ll be different with Perfuma and Scorpia, too. You just got to give them a chance to prove it.” As if on cue Frosta's data pad rang from her pack on the table. She darted to retrieve it but, seeing Perfuma's icon, she instinctively silenced it and shoved it away. Micah and Spinnerella exchanged worried looks, but Netossa piped up before either of them could. 

“Take your time, Frost',” she gave the young Princess a warm smile, “best friends will be there to talk whenever you’re ready.” Frosta’s lower lip began to tremble again but she inhaled deeply, and schooled her face into a neutral expression. She opened her mouth to speak but no sound came. Instead, she tilted her chin up and gave Netossa a single solemn nod. She picked up her pack from the table and swung it around her shoulders, making sure to move as slowly and as gracefully as she could manage. Sparing a clipped nod to both Micah and Spinnerella, she pivoted toward the exit. No sooner had she taken a step to leave than had Netossa grasped her and pulled her into a tight hug. Frosta clung to the older Princess, burying her face into the surprisingly soft metallic bodice not bothering to hold back her sobs. She felt a snug warmth envelop her back and sides as Spinnerella and Micah joined the embrace. And in the safety of their hold, Frosta let all her emotions wash over her unbridled.

\- -

Eventually, Frosta's stream of tears slowed, then stopped. Her heaving sobs quieted, and her breath became even. Only when she lifted her face from Netossa's torso and cleared her throat, did the trio of adults finally release her and take a half step backward.

"Sorry about your…" Frosta wiped her nose with her sleeve and scanned her eyes over the spots of tears and snot that dampened Netossa's top.

"Flexfit Battle Ready Armour," Netossa fisted her hands and the bodice immediately seemed to inflate slightly and transform to a solid metal cuirass. Frosta cringed as the snot and tears beaded on the surface of the armour like condensation. "I had it custom made after my old armour proved to be inconvenient," Netossa spoke as she passed two tissues from the first-aid kit to the young Princess, and unwrapped an antiseptic wipe for herself. Her eyes flicked almost imperceptibly over to her wife's blushing face as she cleaned off her front.

Frosta thanked her as she accepted the tissues and blew her nose. Micah held his open palm out to them and they both thanked him before handing their trash over to him. Instead of tossing their refuse down the kitchen's compost and disposal chutes he made a show of conjuring a smokeless fire to burn it up. Waggling his eyebrows, he began to juggle the flaming garbage, eliciting a small snort and amused eye-roll from Frosta. Suddenly he clapped his hands together, snuffing the fire, and lifted his palm to show off the small hill of cinders. Closing his hand, he brought the fist-full of ashes to his lips and blew a steady stream of air through his curled fingers. Bubbles that popped into sparkles of light flew out.

"Whoah, cool!" Frosta stared in wide eyed wonder.

"I thought you might have enjoyed that,” Micah bragged humbly. “It used to cheer up Angie, too."

"I thought you were going to say that it used to cheer Glimmer up." Frosta said unbracing herself for adult condescension. 

"Well, she was very little when the Horde captured me,” Micah scratched his scalp. “She had just learned the hard way _not_ to play with the stoves in the kitchens. After that, the fire scared her more than anything," they all exchanged impish smirks, "but don't tell her that I told you that, of course," Micah added with a wink.

"You have my word," Frosta said in her best mock-imitation of his earlier antics. They all erupted into laughter at that, Micah even giving her a high-five. When they finally quieted Frosta broke the silence. "I guess I should return to the Kingdom of Snows, now." Everyone seemed to deflate.

Netossa harnessed her brain’s strategic power until inspiration struck. “Gee,” she began, “all this laughing and crying has sure made me real thirsty,” she gave her wife a pointed look, hoping that she'd understand.

Spinerella’s brow furrowed, "Darling, this is hardly the tim-"

“I could really go for a nice refreshing _fizzy drink_ ," Netossa barrelled on. "How about you, Spinny?” 

Spinnerella captured Netossa’s aim, and marvelled at the genius of her wife, "Yes. You know who is excellent at making fizzy drinks? Soda Pop."

"Oh yeah, you're right! Hey Micah,” she said turning to him, “is Soda Pop still around Brightmoon?"

“No, I believe that Soda Pop, Baker, and Busgirl, all returned to the Crypto Castle in Dryl.”

“Aw shoot,” she pantomimed a disappointed snap, “and I was really craving an ice-cold fizzy drink. From Soda Pop. In Dryl.” Netossa prompted Micah for a response. “Too bad there’s no way to get one here. In Brightmoon.” 

“Well, if you’d like we can call ahead and ask Soda Pop to make one for you. I can draw up a teleportation spell that would-”

“Great! Waddaya say we all drop by the Crypto Castle and visit our old pals Emily and Kadroh for some lunch and refreshments?”

“That's a wonderful idea, darling! I would love to. How about you, Micah?”

Micah nodded in awe, finally catching on, “sounds like a plan to me!” 

"What say you, Frost’?” 


	2. King in Exile (Backstory Exposition)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short "flashback" making sense of Micah's inability to escape exile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to skip this self-indulgent backstory I cooked up.

In all the years that Micah had been stranded on Beast Island, he had only twice tried to teleport himself back to Brightmoon. Both attempts had almost destroyed him completely.

The first was shortly after he had escaped the casket he had been sealed in for transportation. Even more excruciating than the bodily pain was how the island’s blighted magic tore at his psyche; draining him of life and stabbing at him with terror and decay. It was after he finally regained consciousness that he first began to hear the sickly siren song emanating from the island's core. 

Micah learned quickly that the island did not only effectively  _ contain _ the First Ones' magical and technological corruption - it was itself a product of it. Thus, the typical rules and patterns of Etherian magics largely did not apply. Micah was, for once, thankful for his ~~childhood mentor's~~ traitor’s morbid fascination with the dead magical arts. Throughout his early teen years he had been forced to study theories of primordial Etherian magic and the ancient siphoning techniques of the First Ones. Many afternoons were spent reviewing dusty tomes, restoring primary source fragments, discerning rudimentary transliterations from proper translations, parsing modern spell compositions for their ancient etymological roots… there always seemed that there was  _ something _ for him to  _ “assist” _ with. At the time it had all seemed like pointless busywork. A punishment for always being ahead of the other magic students that was designed to bore him into patience and humility. But the knowledge proved to be vital. 

The sorcerer king became an alchemising geologist. He spent time carefully surveying the symbols, functions, and behaviours of the island’s magical inhabitants and abandoned machinery. Out of the least corroded pieces he could weave together, he crafted a new magic staff - one that would be an aid to mediate between himself and Beast Island’s magic. By memory, trial, and error Micah had figured out which spells could be successfully transposed to work in the warped and ancient atmosphere. It was after mastering those that he gained the confidence to attempt teleportation again. The sickening feeling of pollution turned his stomach for days after the initial mind-splitting pain had subsided. He grieved bitterly. He even began to hallucinate. But he refused to give in to the Signal that beckoned to him ever-more clearly from the island’s centre.


	3. For Cast: Snow Check the Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micah gets a call that leads to some (un)expected delays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one will be less Frosta-focused and add some more backstory for some of our beloved minor characters.  
> Warning: SpinNetossa get a little feisty towards the end.  
> (Too many finals to beta. Please forgive me.)

Micah sat crouched, resting his elbows on his knees. His feet were flat on the ground and his hips were dipped between his ankles as he carefully studied the intricately patterned circle of sand before him. His lips twitched with silently rehearsed incantations as he drew another glyph into the sand. A soft blue light emanated from the symbol, and Micah finally brightened. "I think I’ve got it this time," he chirped.

"Good,” Netossa deadpanned. “Because we messaged Kadroh almost forty minutes ago." Though the suggestion of lunch was originally a ruse to comfort their young friend it had turned out to be a timely one. It was well past midday and Netossa had grown hungry, and by the low growl that came from Frosta's stomach, she wasn't the only one.

"Sorry,” the king gave his companions an apologetic smile, “it's just been a while.” After spending so long on Beast Island, he was a tad out of practice with more complex spells such as this one. However, it had been with stubborn determination that he held onto hope and resolved to survive in exile. And so, with that same stubborn determination, he now meticulously adjusted the symbols in the teleportation circle, refusing to simply look it up in the castle library or search up the information on his datapad. Micah figured that if Horde Prime could scour his mind to recall faded memories of fifth year dark magic readings, then he too should be able to remember how to create a measly four-person teleportation circle _by himself!_ But seeing how desperately Frosta chomped away at the granola bar that Spinnerella handed to her, his ego melted away into compassion. 

“Almost done here,” he said, rising to his feet, “I’ll just double-check the centre sigil on my datapad and-” there was instantly screeching of chairs and scuffling of feet. He turned to see each Princess standing at the ready with their packs at hand. “Alright,” he said cheerfully, pretending not to notice their expressions of annoyance and relief, “would someone pass me my travel purse?” A gust of wind sent Micah’s bag flying over, hitting him in the chest with a thud. “Thanks,” he croaked to Spinnerella who only blinked in response. Maintaining his charisma, he grabbed his datapad from inside the bag and began to tap at the surprisingly unresponsive screen. He held it up to his face, narrowed his eyes, and jostled it a little hoping to make it work.

“Um, Micah,” Frosta interjected, “I think you should press the power button first.” She tried not to giggle as she watched him struggle a moment more before finally turning the device upside down.

“Oh. Yes. Thank you, Frosta.” His screen glowed to life. “I’ve got it now!” After a quick search Micah nodded proudly. He idly swiped at his screen, dismissing the all open tabs of digital archives he had quickly perused. Sending a promising smile over his shoulder to the Princesses, Micah began to pronounce what they all had long been waiting to hear. “We’re good to g-” his ringtone stopped almost as quickly as it started. Shock turned into horror as Micah recognized the familiar face on the video call he had just accidentally answered. 

\- - 

"Mikey! How's my favourite brother doing?" Castaspella’s voice sang out from the datapad’s speaker.

Frosta’s angry protest was muffled by Netossa’s and Spinnerella’s hands clasped over her mouth. They had had experience with Angella’s sister-in-law over the years. One thing they knew, that Frosta had yet to learn, was _not to get involved_ with whatever Castaspella was on about if it could be avoided.

"Casta! Hi!” Micah’s voice cracked, “I'm still doing great. How've you been since… yesterday?" He could feel the peeved glares of the Princesses boring holes into the side of his head.

Castaspella sighed and rolled her eyes demurely. "I am well enough, all things considered.” She wore her characteristic grin as her indirect melodramatics continued, “I wouldn't want to _bore you_ with the minutiae of the Council's research progress, but if you aren’t _too busy_ for your _one and only_ sister _-_ "

"Actually Casta, as much as I want to hear all about it,” that was at least _partially_ true, “I was just about to head out before you called," Micah gave a small, rueful smile to his sister while giving a thumbs up to the others off-camera. Frosta lowered the snowball she had readied to throw. “So,” Micah concluded, “if there’s no emergency-”

"I'll make this quick then!” Odd rustling noises were heard as Castaspella ducked down and disappeared off of the screen for a moment. “Okay,” she popped back up into view, “I am sending you a package right now," before she had finished speaking a bright purple circle with elaborate patterning glowed on the floor at Micah’s feet. With one bright flash a gift box adorned with an obnoxiously large red ribbon appeared at its centre. "Just a little something I made for you,” she preened as Micah bent to retrieve the gift, “I simply _had_ to see your face when you opened it up." Castaspella clasped her hands together at the side of her all-but pouting face.

Micah swallowed his sigh of resignation, and hastily removed the giftbox’s lid. "Casta,” he said, lifting an oversized greyish-yellow knitted sweater into camera view, “you really shouldn’t have.” It had Mystacorian insignias patterned all over it in light pink, and in bold, purple letters it had the words _‘Etheria’s Best Brother’_ at the front. The onlooking Princesses did little to hide their snickers and smirks. Micah forced a brilliant smile. “Thank you, Casta. This is such a wonderf-”

“Wait, wait! Turn it inside out.” 

Micah’s facade fell for a split second. Sparing an apologetic glance to the three ladies in the room, he set the datapad to levitate, and followed Castaspella’s direction. Lo and behold, the inside of the sweater was entirely dark purple. As it unfurled, Micah saw that the colour of yarn used for most of the other side spelled out the message _‘I Love My Sister’_ at the front and centre. Except the word “Love” was replaced with the Etherian symbol for a heart, much like young Bow’s top.

“Isn’t it just a kick? I call it a _reversible sweater._ I couldn’t decide which message to knit and then I thought to myself, _‘Well, why not both?’_.” She laughed delightedly, reveling in her own personal joke.

“Yeah, why not?” Netossa murmured too quietly for the datapad’s mic to pick up.

“No magic either!” Castaspella chattered on animatedly, “just the long hard work of stitching. And look,” she pulled out a purple knit sweater of her own, with the words _‘I Love My Brother’_ on the front, “we can be matching!”

Netossa muffled a raspberry into her wife’s shoulder-pad whileSpinnerella herself silently exhaled laughter from her nose. Frosta just gawked, unsure if this was normal sibling behaviour or if it was truly as bizarre as she thought it was.

“Well, go ahead!” Casta chirped, “Try it on! I simply _have_ to see how it looks on you. Oh, but maybe turn it inside-out again so that I can see you in the _crème_ side first.”

"Well, I would but,” Micah reached for an excuse, “it’s really been quite warm these days... with the solstice and all.” He had hoped to lead the conversation elsewhere. To no avail.

"Don't be coy, Micah! I know that Brightmoon gets chilly in the evenings. The climate there isn’t consistently temperate like it is _here_ in _Mystacor_ \- but of course you know that. Unless you've forgotten? You know you still haven't come to visit since your return from," her voice trailed off and her face fell. "From away.” She finished quickly, pursing her lips into a tight frown.

Micah knew that Castaspella still had difficulty referring to Beast Island. She had felt guilty. For not going into battle with him to protect him. For not defying headmaster Norwyn’s orders, and infiltrating the Fright Zone to search for him _immediately_ after she had received news of his capture. For not believing in herself enough to investigate further when her kinship-bond locator spell caused the compass’ arrow to glow red and spin wildly, instead of dimming out as it would have, had Micah _truly been_ dead. For resenting her niece’s mother who ordered the battle that killed her brother. For not having been the one killed instead. 

They had talked about it all extensively during her short stay in Brightmoon castle after the final battle. He had done his best to absolve her conscience. He had reassured her that she had been too young then, too entrenched in the politics of the Magic school, to have done anything differently. He had even shared with her that he was proud of her staying in Mystacor, and that he was thankful that it was _she_ who succeeded him as the magic school’s headmaster. (They both joked that no one was as thankful as old Master Norwyn who got to go into retirement from being Headmaster for the third and final time.) Still, she doubted sometimes. And seeing the genuine pain in her eyes, Micah couldn’t help but feel protective of her.

"Not to worry, Cas-Cas,” he said, shaking her from her internal spiral. “I remember. We used to have our famous all-student lunadisc tournaments on the beaches year round!” He smiled winsomely at her, both genuinely nostalgic and eagerly trying to divert the conversation away from Beast Island… and the sweater. When she beamed back at him and clapped her hands together, he thought that he was in the clear. 

"Oh, good! Then you can try it on. Unless," her eyes flashed with sudden anxious intensity, "you don't like it. You can tell me if you don’t," her tone was neutral but he saw the way she wrung her hands nervously.

Micah's face softened into a grin of absolute sympathy. "No, no, I love it. How could I _not_ love my baby sister's thoughtful, hand-crafted gifts?" Lifting the sweater, he put his arms through the sleeves and purposefully shimmied himself into the purple side first. After his head emerged from the knitted mass, he pulled his hair out from the back, and puffed out his chest to brandish the written message at the front. Castaspella’s eyes sparkled, and they shared a kindred smile.

It had always been this way in their family. Love was communicated in gaudy, demonstrative, and sometimes overbearing ways. Whereas Micah - _the prodigy_ \- tended towards flattery and showmanship, Casta had instead found her niche in pragmatism and provision.

"Oh, please Micah,” she scoffed unconvincingly, feigning annoyance, “I am _hardly_ your _baby_ sister anymore.” They both knew that she would never admit to secretly loving the moniker. “But even so I am glad that you like it! Now, I might have to take in the arms a little bit, but I can do that for you when you finally come to visit. And, come to think of it, it has been a while since I’ve seen Glimmer, too…"

“Hey, Micah. Are we still going?" Frosta had reached the limit of her patience. The others were no longer too keen to stop her from interrupting either.

"Who was that?” Castaspella sounded panicked, “I'm sorry, I hadn't realized that I was keeping you from guests!”

"Hi, Auntie Castaspella," Frosta came into the video frame and waved blandly. She would normally call her former sisters-in-arms by their first names, but Frosta wasn’t too familiar with the Headmaster of Mystacor. It was not lost on the trio of adults in the room that she decided, for once, to use a title of deference for the elder woman. Frosta ignored their astonished gaping.

"Oh, hello!” Castaspella greeted stretching out the last word. “You're one of the Princesses from my niece's alliance! Frosta, correct?"

Frosta immediately brightened. "Wow! I can't believe you remember me." Castaspella's responding laugh was deceptively melodious.

"Well, yes. It’s hard to forget being trapped in ice, and screened for Horde chipping without a _single_ word of explanation." She raised her eyebrow challengingly with a hint of mirth behind her eyes. Micah snorted.

“Oh! Oh, yeah...” Frosta suddenly remembered the incident during the war when the sorceress had found their hidden camp. She flustered as she realized how feeble her earlier attempt at formality must have sounded. This was not Castaspella's first impression of her. “Uh…”

Deciding to have mercy on the girl, Castaspella abated. “Not to worry." She smiled genuinely, "I understand now that it was a necessary precaution.” Castaspella then changed her posture. Instantly there was an element of pomp and circumstance to her speech, she carried on ceremoniously. “You fought bravely against the Horde for all of Etheria, and,” she added with extra fondness, "for my Glimmer," Frosta blushed crimson at that. "For this I, and truly all of Mystacor, are exceedingly grateful. So, as Headmaster,” she paused for effect - earning her an unseen eye roll from Netossa - “I formally bestow upon you an invitation to access the hidden school, city, and sanctum of all sorcerers. From henceforth, now and forevermore, you will always be welcomed in the Island of Mystacor, Princess Frosta of… of..." Castaspella genuinely faltered, "was it Salineas?" And with that question all airs of pretension evaporated.

\- - 

Micah stared at his sister in disbelief, and even Spinnerella looked affronted by the absurdity of that question. The only person who didn’t seem at all surprised was Netossa.

"Uh," Frosta glanced sideways, "The Kingdom of Snows." She conjured an ice spear on her unbandaged hand to emphasize what seemed obvious.

Castaspella’s eyes looked about ready to fall from their sockets. "TheKingdomofSnows?” she gasped. “I thought they were operating under an interim regency council! At least until the Fractal Flake chooses another - in the royal family of course - to connect to!" Even in utter astonishment, Castaspella still managed to flaunt her (albeit outdated) knowledge of international politics.

"Yeah, and it did. Like, five years ago!" Frosta squared her shoulders and put on her mask of regal indifference. "I have been exercising my role as the sole ruling monarch of the Kingdom of Snows - with the guidance of the Advisory Council of Snows - for over half a decade, now." She murmured the caveat in the middle begrudgingly, as if taught to do so by rote.

"Oh, my poor dear!" Castaspella began to fret, and Frosta braced herself for what was sure to be a long and patronizing interrogation of her capability to preside over her Kingdom. "You must be _freezing_ living all the way up there! It's practically the Northern Reach!" The Headmaster sorceress wailed. Frosta blinked. That certainly wasn't what she had been expecting. Castaspella shook her head as she continued to fuss. "Oh no, no! That won't do. I won’t have it! No friends of my Glimmer will ever go cold! Nor hungry! Micah," she rounded on the king of Brightmoon, "have you even given her something to eat, yet?"

"Well, actually we were just about to head out for some lunch." He grinned beatifically feeling a touch vindicated.

"Yes, of course!" She looked back to Frosta, "And I must knit you something! Oh, but I don't have your measurements," she bit her lip anxiously and became lost in thought.

“That’s okay, Casta," Micah scrambled to end the conversation before his sister got too carried away, "you don’t have to-”

"I have some extra clothes in my room here," Frosta blurted out, "you could maybe measure from that?" She hadn't noticed how Micah's head hung and shoulders drooped.

Castaspella was all-too pleased. "Oh, I knew that I liked her.” She shot Micah a look of triumph before addressing the young Princess. “Yes, a clothing sample would be perfect!"

"Okay! I’ll go get it!" And she bounded out the door and down hall, giggling excitedly the whole way.

"Mikey, be a dear and go with Frosta. I want you to send me a box with her extra coat, and an exact height measurement right away! And also, which socks are you wearing? Please don't tell me it's those same, raggedy, old-"

Castaspella's voice faded away as Micah - box in hand - plodded reluctantly towards the diplomatic suite for the Kingdom of Snows. The floating datapad trailing just behind him.

Netossa waited until she was sure they were well out of earshot before leaning over and whispering to her wife. “Hey, you got another-?” Her question was cut off by the sound of a granola bar already being unwrapped. Spinnerella held it up to Netossa's mouth with a self-satisfied grin. She knew. She always knew. They shared it back and forth for the first two bites, after which Spinnerella simply passed the rest off to her wife to finish.

“What the hell,” Netossa paused to chew, “kind of _bass ackwards_ education system teaches kids about sex," she swallowed the last of the food in her mouth, "but not about crushes? Who even does that?” She questioned no one in particular as she pulled up two chairs side by side from the dining table.

“Apparently,” Spinnerella huffed, equally disgruntled, “the Advisory Council of Snows, does.” She shook her head, taking her seat, and Netossa joined beside her. After a moment of shared resentment towards the Council, Spinnerella continued thoughtfully, “I can see why Frosta wouldn’t want to spend unnecessary time with them in Snows. They don’t seem to value… emotional intelligence.”

"Understatement.” They sat together brooding. “Well,” Netossa sighed, "only a few more years until she comes of age. Then she won't need to get approval from the Advisory Council for anything anymore.” Spinnerella hummed her agreement. They shared a look that communicated that they were both thinking the same thing. _Only a few more years until Frosta gets to fire them all._ They held hands, leaned against each other, and settled into a contented quiet.

\- - 

"Do you think," Spinnerella's eyebrows drew together, "that Frosta wants a sweater from Casta because she doesn't feel loved in Snows? I know that the Advisory Council should have at least _one_ distant relative of hers to look to the interests of the royal bloodline but…" she bit her lip pensively, "it might not be the same as having true family."

Netossa responded with a small shrug. "Maybe," she said calmly, still lulled by the warm presence of the woman who chose to exchange vows and necklaces with her all those years ago. Feeling her wife shift beside her, Netossa finally seemed to notice how withdrawn and preoccupied Spinnerella had become. "Or," Netossa squeezed her wife's hand and turned to face her, "she's just a kid who's excited to get new stuff. A custom-made knitted sweater is still a cool present," she grinned deviously, "even if it _is_ mad ugly."

Spinnerella couldn't stop her giggle, "it _was_ ugly wasn't it?"

The return of Spinnerella's smile made Netossa's heart melt and stomach do flips but she nevertheless played it cool, "Oh, for sure!” Netossa chuckled along. “I can’t decide which side was worse, the purple one or the beige one”

“Darling,” Spinnerella almost managed to sound sincere, “don’t you mean the _crème_ side?” They both lost their composure at that and broke into a fit of laughter.

Eventually, on Netossa's suggestion, they scavenged the kitchens next door for a few leftover tea biscuits. The couple continued to snack and chat idly together until Frosta suddenly stormed into the room... alone. The elder Princesses watched Frosta wordlessly hoist herself up to sit on the dining table, and then flop backwards to lay face-up with her arms spread. They eyed the girl sprawled out in front of them, looked at each other, and then turned their attention back to Frosta.

“Hey Frost','' Netossa began casually. There was no response. Spinnerella placed a comforting hand on Netossa’s thigh. She was worried. They both were. Unfazed by the silence, Netossa continued carefully goading the girl for a response. “Where's Micah?" Though Frosta’s face remained inscrutable, Netossa noticed that despite the blasé expression the Ice Princess had clenched her fists harder and had begun to kick her legs restlessly over the table's edge. Obviously striking a nerve with the last question, Netossa dared to press a little more. "Is he coming back soon, or?"

"I don't know." Frosta answered curtly, still not moving. The young ruler could not comprehend how the conversation went from whether or not the knitted tuque should have an opening for a tiara, to the Mystacorian Council's research of Etheria's resurfaced magical energies. The final straw however, was when Castaspella began to dial George and Lance into the call for something about transliteration or something. After that Frosta had just left.

Netossa opened her mouth to further question the young Princess when she was saved by the bell. "Just got a message from Micah," Spinnerella reported, "he says that Casta decided to go with the indigo yarn and that he'll try to wrap up the conversation in fifteen minutes." After another high-pitched chime from her device she corrected, "make that twenty minutes".

Frosta groaned. "We're never getting to Dryl at this rate!" She snapped, then immediately recoiled at how much she had just sounded like Mermista. Yuck. She made a mental note to never do that again. The Winter’s Bane shall not be defeated by the treasonous forces of puberty. She sat up resolutely, and scarfed down a tea biscuit, figuring she could make up with rationality what she had fumbled in poise. "Perhaps, another day then," she successfully kept the edge of disappointment out of her voice. The wedded pair shared a mischievous look, and then turned it onto the Princess of Snows. 

“Perhaps,” Netossa began, then broke into a grin and linked arms with her wife, "or perhaps we'll race you there." The joyful spark in Frosta’s eyes quickly blossomed into a competitive flame.

"You're on!" In a blink Frosta stood up on the dining table and created a ramp of ice, which she promptly front flipped onto. Her wild cackling echoed down the hall as she skated away, leaving behind a glacial trail. 

"This little..." Netossa’s evaluation of Frosta trailed off as she stepped forward and tested the frozen ground with one foot. Sure enough, she half slipped forward on the ice before regaining her balance. “Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be? Well, I’m game! You ready, Spinny?” She reached back to where she approximated her wife was standing, her eyes still glued to the (possibly) (unlikely) blatant sabotage. Rather than sidling up to her wife as expected, Spinnerella instead softly kissed the knuckles of the hand held out to her. When Netossa finally looked up at her questioningly, Spinnerella simply laced their fingers together and drew herself nearer.

"Have I ever told you,” Spinnerella held her gaze and spoke each word adoringly, “just how much I love you?"

"Several times." Netossa gloated, expecting to provoke a trademark eye-roll from her beloved wife. Spinnerella instead surprised her by catching her smirking mouth in a long, searing kiss. Their bodies molded against each other with practiced ease as they both vied for control, which Spinnerella eventually gave over. When their lips finally parted and Netossa had taken a few breaths to come back to herself, she noticed something fierce and hungry in her wife’s eyes that she hadn’t before. Her brain fogged over again as Spinnerella leaned close and kissed her neck just below her jaw.

“Well,” Spinnerella whispered into her ear, “could you stand to be reminded again?" They both knew that it wasn’t really a question. It was a statement of intent.

"Right now?” Netossa pulled back, half startled and half trying to hide the shiver of excitement that coursed through her body. She knew that she should have tried to be the voice of reason but, _damn,_ was she helpless when it came to Spinny.

The cyclone Princess hummed thoughtfully for a moment. “I was thinking,” she said with a hint of playful spite, “ _after_ we beat Frosta to the Crypto Castle."

Netossa eyed her wife with genuine suspicion. "So, you don't want to let her win this time?" Netossa quirked her brow at Spinnerella’s growing syrupy smile.

“She can have a head start." Spinnerella winked.

Netossa chuckled, and tiptoed to press her forehead against her wife’s, and Spinny met her half way. "That's my girl," she hummed with closed eyes. They lingered together only a moment longer; then Netossa swung around and hitched herself onto Spinnerella’s side. And, after stealing just one more short kiss, Spinnerella lifted them both into the air and out the door in a whirlwind.


	4. Bye, Bye, Bye, Home Cooking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations continue at Crypto Castle. Frosta's a young teenager, Emily is a goodgorl, Spinnetossa are happily married, Micah's both a corny Dad and a grieving widower, and Kadroh sees people intuitively (but sometimes misses context). Food and stories are shared as we learn more about our beloved minor characters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *CW* Towards the end Kadroh explains how "nutrient rich amniotic fluid" is made and it gets kind of macabre.  
> Allusions to post-traumatic stress & the process of unlearning cult-brainwashing.

“I hope that these offerings are acceptable to you, your Majesties,” Kadroh crooned as he set down another plate on the crowded marble counter before the Princesses. They had long explained to him that formalities were unnecessary, but ultimately, they allowed him to address them as foreign dignitaries so long as it was understood that they would all be speaking as friends and equals. “And I apologize again, for the lack of fizzy drink present at the table.” He instinctively dusted his hands on his apron as he made his apology for the third time. “Soda Pop and his bro- _colleagues_ requested a seven day leave after I had informed them of Princess Entrapta’s absence yesterday evening. I had not known at that time that my dear friends would come to call mere hours later.” The tips of his ears drooped.

“There is nothing to be sorry for, Kadroh,” Netossa propped her elbow atop the low back of her stool and reclined slightly. “This is perfect. Thank you,” she said popping a still-warm tiny quiche into her mouth. She waited until he lifted his head and met her gaze before giving him a slight nod and a kind smile. As his shame and doubt began to slowly melt away, he visibly cheered. Emily chirped in affirmation and grazed along the side of his leg as if in agreement.

“Yeah!” Frosta’s voice was a muffled hum beneath the four tiny spinach puffs ballooning in her cheeks. “This is amazing!” She made a sandwich of two triple-decker tortilla chip towers piled with assorted dips and one-handedly shoveled it all into her mouth with a resounding crunch.

Netossa warned, “slow down, you could get a stomachache!” at the same time as Spinnerella squeaked, “Frosta, maybe not so much so quickly?”

Frosta downed her food in one gulp, then scoffed. “Okay, _Moms_ …” she snarked as she reached for the vegetable platter and started chowing down just as quickly. Netossa couldn’t miss the self-satisfied smirk Spinnerella sent her way; but there was something else in her gaze too, something tender, almost a question. Netossa sent a hard look back as if to say, _don’t even think about it_. She recognized that look. It was similar to the look Spinny had given her when they happened upon a tiny, abandoned scrufflet in the Whispering Woods.

Kadroh, who had missed Frosta’s sarcasm and was unaware of the couples’ sidebar sought to ease what he surmised was the source of the tension.

“Not to worry your Excellencies,” he smiled sweetly. “There is no scarcity of food. You need not compete.” His green gaze settled on Frosta, who then blushed and amended her pace. Kadroh was just about to ask whether or not the famine in Snows was dire when Emily began to emit a shrill ring. She nudged at Kadroh’s side with a single extended leg and rotated toward the kitchen doors. “Thank you, Emily,” he gently pat her head, dismissing the noise; and that was enough to send her bolting towards the kitchens as quickly as her three little legs would take her. “If you would excuse us, friends.” Kadroh said, following after the bot.

“Are you sure we can’t help with anything, Kadroh?” Spinnerella made a move to stand, but Kadroh shook his head.

“Thank you, your Grace, but it is quite alright. It is a joy to extend hospitality to my friends after their long, and no doubt arduous journey. Please, rest and refresh yourselves. Emily and I will return shortly with more provisions.” And with that he disappeared behind the door.

\- -

When they arrived at Crypto Castle, Emily and Kadroh were there to meet them at the door with a tray of light refreshments. Because it was yet difficult for Frosta to remember certain _new_ additions to her morning routine, such as _putting on deodorant,_ the group agreed to split up for quick showers and reconvene in the newly built Soda Pop parlour adjacent the kitchens. Emily – unable to detect smell – led Frosta through the winding castle maze to a guest suite and back. Though, the laundry-bots managed to steam, press, and UV sterilize the elder couples’ garments without incident, Frosta’s clothing was unfortunately deemed unsalvable and incinerated on the spot. Luckily, since Horde occupation, both human and robotic staff had gotten used to serving visitors to the castle and preparing guest rooms appropriately. Thus, Frosta sat bar side with her friends in a comically fluffy mint green robe, and too-cute hedgehog slippers.

“When Micah gets here,” Frosta declared between licking the cheese dust from her fingers, “I’m asking Emily to replay the recording.”

“Emily already gave us the frame by frame, Frost’." Netossa responded after taking a sip of her sweet iced tea. "What is _Micah_ going to see there that we haven’t already?” 

They had tied. And while Kadroh and Emily were happy to declare it a unified victory, the three Princesses were determined to find a conclusive winner.

“I don’t know,” Frosta began as she sanitized her hands with a moist towelette and dried them on the sleeves of her borrowed robe. “Micah’s known you both longer, maybe he’ll know what to look for…” 

Usually, the implied accusation of cheating would have sent Spinnerella to bristling and Netossa to clapping back soundly. But earlier they had managed to convince Kadroh that it would be more efficient for them to share a single guest suite for showering. They could find their way through the castle maze via datapad locating systems; but the more expedient plan, they assured him, was for him to begin preparing the meal for their beloved, ravenous teenager while they freshened up. A few quick bouts and one shower later they had managed a ‘tie’ of their own (with the promise of a lengthier rematch). Needless to say, they were both in exceptionally good humour.

“Please,” Netossa laughed. “Spinny doesn’t play dirty... Well,” she smirked, “except in the –” a harsh nudge under the table silenced her. Spinnerella gave her a look as if to remind her _who_ they were talking to and _why_ they had even opted to spend time with the young Princess in the first place. _No ‘couple’ stuff._

“In the what?” Frosta glared at them with eyes narrowed in suspicion as she crossed her arms. The Advisory Council of Snows had taught the girl a rudimentary sexual education without allusion to intimacy, introspection, or healthy relationships. _Of course_ they wouldn’t have taught her any _colloquialisms_. Luckily, Netossa was saved from answering when a burst of bright blue came from the far corner of the room.

“Hey, speaking of Micah…” Netossa swiveled her chair around, thankful for the diversion. “Look who finally made it!” She silently breathed a sigh of relief when Frosta’s attention shifted to greeting the latecomer. Micah stepped out of the now-dimming circle of magic with a small bundle in hand, greeting them each in return. “The ‘twenty-minute’ hold up took longer than expected?”

“I admit, magical studies conversations can be… tedious. But after I got your message,” Micah said gesturing with the blue-cloth bag, “I had a minor slip and fall on my way back to the dining room.” He turned to reveal a few purple-ish splotches marring his right shoulder that had nothing to do with his Beast Island scar-markings. Frosta shrunk beneath their peripheral gazes.

“Sorry.” She murmured, red-faced.

“It’s alright. Juliet was just up the hallway and managed to break most of the fall. She even helped me locate a few of the supplies,” he blushed lightly as he avoided admitting that he had no idea where to find a sports bra or age-appropriate deodorant. The spare-clothes in the diplomatic suite didn’t include those, and he had missed most of this portion of Glimmer’s life. But luckily ~~his wife’s promising young squire~~ Brightmoon’s General-Marshal was there to assist. “So, in the end, I still got here in a flash!” Micah’s cheeky grin did nothing to soften the blow of the dad joke.

Spinnerella grimaced, while Netossa simply shook her head slowly. Frosta, on the other hand, was howling. “I get it! Because-” gasped for air between wheezing laughter, “because of the magic’s light!”

Micah swelled with pride and sauntered over to stand obnoxiously close to Netossa, gloating wordlessly. He purposefully did not make eye-contact with either of his long-time friends and instead made a point of glorying in the sight of Frosta wiping tears from her eyes. Netossa took her cue to shove at Micah’s shoulder. Frosta turned to the older couple in confusion, “How are you _not_ laughing? Didn’t you get it?”

“We did,” Spinnerella sighed, refusing to look over at Micah’s, doubtless, shit-eating grin.

“The novelty wears off,” Netossa quipped. The quirk of her lip and short glance at Micah made her jibe clear.

Micah didn’t have time to feign offence or make another bad pun, before Kadroh burst through the kitchen doors. “King Micah! Greetings!” Kadroh sang, and suddenly Micah was caught in a tight hug from his host.

“Huh-Hey! Kadroh!” Micah said hiding his wince from the pressure on his lightly bruised shoulder. He returned the embrace heartily, ending it in a pat on the shoulder. Emily likewise beeped and whirred happily, making her way over to dance excitedly and roll around at their feet. “And hi, Emily!” he reached down to pat the underside of her chassis, resulting in a contented chirping tone.

“I am pleased that you have arrived!” 

“I’m glad to be here.” He smiled up at his friends, appreciating them; his words carrying more meaning than the Princesses had detected. Yet somehow, Kadroh sensed it, and Micah knew that he was seen.

\- -

After Frosta had gotten changed, Micah washed, and Emily confirmed for the third time that the race indeed ended in a tie, Kadroh emerged from the kitchen with a stack of steaming trays.

“And now for the traditionally-portioned entrée of the meal,” in a few fluid motions Kadroh had distributed the steamer baskets, hung up his apron, and finally sat down with his friends. Emily, too, took this as her cue to plug herself into the outlet just beneath the bar table and go into power-saving mode.

Everyone thanked Kadroh cheerily except for Micah, who sat stock still. “Is this,” he swallowed hard before continuing, “steamed _baozi_?”

Kadroh blushed slightly, the tips of his ears drooping. “I am not quite sure,” he admitted bashfully, before regaining his usual enthusiasm, “the Queen taught me to make this out of the carbohydrate and protein rations found on Darla. I found that the same consistency and texture could be achieved with a much improved flavour if I instead used-” Micah shot up from his seat.

“Angella taught you this?” he had stopped listening after the first few words and stared at Kadroh in shock.

“No, I-” Kadroh flustered, and wondered for a moment if there was perhaps another Queen on Etheria that he had not known about, “I was referring to Queen Glimmer… of Brightmoon” Kadroh finished with a broad smile.

“Glimmer?” Micah whispered the name reverently. Slowly, his entire demeaner transformed into one of utmost gravity. Frosta jolted and looked to Spinnerella who gave her a reassuring smile. She had never seen Micah like this before, but apparently Spinnerella and Netossa had, judging by their endeared grins. A faint tremor overtook his entire frame. His expression became hard. Unreadable. “You learned from-” with a shuddering exhale, the tears began to roll steadily down his cheeks. Kadroh’s smile faded into a look of borderline panic.

“Have I done something, wrong?” He asked sincerely, clasping his clawed hands together before him.

A long moment passed before Micah seemed to realize that Kadroh had spoken at all. When the question finally made sense in his mind, Micah shook his head vehemently. “No, friend. You haven’t,” he inhaled deeply through his nostrils to gather himself, “you haven’t done anything wrong.” He offered the clone a wobbly smile.

“But you’re crying!” Frosta’s voice surprised even herself. She hadn’t meant to interject so bluntly but the tension was suffocating. There was no way she was going to let that adulty _non-_ answer slide! Also, she might have been just a teeny-tiny, little bit still on edge about the subject of the Queen– _just a little._ And, maybe, she wanted to know how Glimmer was involved in making Micah cry, too.

For a moment it seemed like he was not going to say anything, but suddenly Micah opened his eyes and met Frosta’s stare for a fleeting moment before turning to give both her and Kadroh a mollifying look. “The first time I brought Angie home to meet my mother,” he began, “Mum, was so happy that she decided that we were going to have something special for lunch. She called Casta into the kitchen and asked for the three of us to help prepare the meal.” A sudden snort of laughter escaped him, causing both Kadroh and Frosta to blink in confusion. The elder couple simply smiled in recognition. “Now, Angie is good at a lot of things,” Micah asserted, “but _cooking_ ,” he cringed, “is not her strongest skill.”

No one corrected Micah’s use of the present tense – Kadroh because he didn’t yet know to, and the others out of respect. Frosta stirred at first, but then thought better of it, earning her a nod of approval from Netossa.

“I offered to help Angie,” Micah continued, “since Casta and I have made _bao_ since we were kids. But mother insisted that Angella stand next to her and learn for herself.” He smiled nostalgically, stroking his beard, eyes glazed over. “This went on for almost four months. It seemed that every time Angie and I visited Mystacor, Casta and I would get called into the kitchen and we would be making _bao_ for dinner. Casta even started calling it _‘Micah’s home food’_ ,” he chuckled. “The first time Angie lifted the steamer lid and none of hers collapsed we were all so…” he choked again, “so proud of her.” Micah pinched his eyes shut, trying to steady his stuttered breathing and hold back the sobs. Saving her friend from the spotlight, and hoping to ground him to the present, Spinnerella piped up to fill the silence.

“I remember how Angella practiced for months in the Brightmoon kitchen trying to get it perfectly,” she conveniently left out the detail about the angelic queen of Brightmoon being refused blessing to propose to Micah until _after_ his mother could no longer tell the difference between who made which _bao_.

It was on the very night of that first successful dinner, Angella gave Micah her crescent moon necklace for him to wear beneath his _Star of Mystacor_ Headmaster’s emblem. The long cord made it so that the moon pendant hung low, close to the centre of his chest. Closest to his heart. In return Micah had given her his childhood necklace with the pink, pearlescent, tear-drop shaped, pendant (as he wore the matching earrings). Unfortunately, Micah’s necklace did not hang at quite the right length for Angella’s form, so she typically wore it underneath her blue capelet, as close to her own heart as possible. At least, she had used to.

That changed after Micah’s disappearance and the dissolution of the first Princess Alliance. Unable to carry the weight of his memory around her neck yet unwilling to ever exchange the intimate token with any other, she opted to stop wearing necklaces completely. Since then, she donned a full-length war cape, and brandished her natural, angelic, diamond jugular markings. Micah understood his late wife’s reasoning. He respected her decisions as his Queen and his love. Still, he couldn’t help the twinge of sadness at how she had chosen to keep his family at a distance, and at how impersonal and pragmatic most of the mementos she had kept of him were. That was, until now.

“To know that Angella wanted to preserve-” his voice broke, “and pass on to Glimmer…” he tried to still his trembling lips and blinked rapidly, dabbing his eyes with the crane-folded periwinkle napkin from his table setting.He inhaled sharply through his nose, and shook himself slightly, before taking his seat. Closing his eyes, he bit into the soft sphere and hummed his delight. It was perfect. The subtle sweetness of the bread, encasing a savory-sweet and tangy seasoned filling all melded together in Micah’s mouth and beckoned fond memories of family and happier times. He took another bite and chewed languidly, savouring the comfort of home. “Thank you for this, Kadroh,” Micah said around a mouthful of food, “I can sense my mother and my dear Angella in every bite.”

Kadroh blushed and nervously scratched behind his ear. “I assure you I used no such persons in the making of these _baozi_ ,” he blinked innocently and his ears lowered slightly in confusion as the others laughed at his confession. After a moment of discomfort, he ventured to ask shyly. “Sh-should I have?” The laughter immediately stopped. Everyone turned to look at him as if it were the first time they had ever seen a bionic alien clone. Feeling awkward, and not understanding his friends’ sudden quiet, Kadroh rushed into an apologetic explanation. “I have been given to understand that such practices are not done here on Etheria. That, instead, you feed your bodies’ nutrients back into the environment for processing and nourish yourselves less _directly_ by using other environmental sources.” They were uneasy considering the implications of the closed ecological system of their planet, and instead zeroed in on the other implications in Kadroh’s statements.

“Wait,” Frosta didn’t even try to conceal her fascination, “you eat dead people? Or like, _ate_ dead people in the Horde?”

“No, no, of course not, Princess Frosta,” Kadroh chuckled lightly and raised placating hands. Everyone sighed their relief. “We did not eat at all,” Kadroh beamed a mint-green toothy smile at his beloved friends.

_“WHAT!?”_

\- -

“I presume by ‘eat’ you meant oral consumption of daily rations, yes?” Kadroh timidly inquired at Frosta who simply nodded dumbly in response. “Indeed! There was no such practice in the Intergalactic Horde.”

“But,” Spinnerella’s voice sounded unusually frail as she interjected, “I – I _saw_ ,” Spinnerella absentmindedly traced her fingers over the small scar at the nape of her neck and scowled, “I saw Big Bro- I saw _him_ eating.” She and Micah both shuddered. Pinching her eyes shut, she shook her head quickly, trying to banish the body-memories and emotional re-experience. She hated remembering. Everyone who was chipped did. Netossa clasped her hand in both of hers, and when Spinnerella opened her eyes, mouthed the words, _I got you._ Steeling herself, and turning to address everyone Spinnerella concluded gravely, “Horde Prime had plenty to eat, and stores of food from,” she grimaced, “other places.”

“Prime is not contingent, but rather _we_ are contingent upon him,” Kadroh retorted mechanically, startling everyone. Almost instantly he caught himself and blushed, “er- I mean to say, that it _was believed_ that Prime did not eat out of any kind of necessity but rather only for glory. It was Prime alone who was worthy to indulge in the luxurious sensation of taste. For a common clone to eat it would have been considered shameful, unfitting, perverse, vulgar, and _grossly_ decadent,” he carried on genially, completely oblivious to his friends’ horrified expressions. “We were instead provided sustenance directly into our cervical ports at our docking stations via nutrient-rich amniotic fluid…”

“Oh. I guess that explains-”

“…made from the remnants of brothers fallen in battle or who had been decommissioned.” Kadroh finished his disturbingly chipper explanation with a winsome smile.

“Decommissioned?” Netossa asked without missing a beat.

“Oh, Yes.” Kadroh nodded earnestly, unaware that the term was not self-evident to his companions. “We would never leave brothers who bore the image of Prime strewn on the ground for enemies to witness and exult over them. _The Winnowing_ would occur after each mission to collect the fallen and all other recognizable remains. If one returned from the mission field a proven failure,” Kadroh corrected himself, “um, sorry. I mean to say if any brothers returned _injured,_ they would then be decommissioned,” at once the meaning of _decommissioning_ became clear to everyone in the room. Injured clone soldiers were _culled_. Kadroh chattered on as nonchalantly as if he were describing the weather, “their bodies stripped, shaved, and sanitized to be sent into the _Pool of Repentance_. There, a mixture of enzymes and acids would-” Spinnerella jolted up from her chair, interjecting with the kindest forced enthusiasm she could have possibly summoned.

“Thank you, Kadroh,” Spinnerella cooed, making her way over to him, “I think that we understand now.” She slung an arm around his shoulders, pressing the clone into the warmth of her side. Whether he knew it or not, she figured, he needed the comfort. Her instincts were proven by the slow relaxation of his military posture and the slight weight of his subtle nestling. She covered her smile with a cough and leaned conspiratorially up toward his pointed ear. “Sorry for the rude interruption. But we want to be mindful,” she nodded her head slightly towards Frosta who was seated behind them, “of those younger than us.”

The Princess in question wanted to _loudly_ remind everyone present that she was a _war veteran_ and could _totally handle_ a few gory details. And she would have… had she not been preoccupied with swallowing back the late-lunch and stomach bile that rose in her throat. By the sounds of it, Micah wasn’t doing much better either.

“My sincere apologies, Princess,” Kadroh’s ears tilted involuntarily as cocked his head in confusion, “I wasn’t aware that there was anyone younger present.”

Delight rolled off of Frosta in waves, as she lifted her chin and sat up straighter in her chair. With a glance Micah and Netossa communicated to each other their shared amusement at their young friend’s actions, and their mutual commitment to not let her notice how adorable they thought it was. Spinnerella however, looked directly into the glowing green eyes of the gentle clone, formulating a question that had never once occurred to her to ask before. “Kadroh,” she said his name with the soothing care of someone attempting to rescue an abandoned baby deer, “how old are you?”

“I believe, by your Etherian units, I am,” he lifted a single clawed finger to tap against his chin...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3,500pts for making it this far! :D
> 
> A Scruffle is the creature in season 4, episode 9, that seemed to be attacking Razz and Mara before Razz soothed it and taught Mara to connect with it. (Wild Boar i.e. "Sus Scrofa" + Truffle = Scruffle).
> 
> Okay, admittedly my ADHD may have had a field day on this one. Please let me know in the comments where things are unclear or over-explained and I shall fix it accordingly!

**Author's Note:**

> Congrats on making it this far! :D 100 points for you!
> 
> The teleportation incident involving Glimmer and SpinNetossa is a direct reference to another Heart-Canon I have adopted: the second story in "The Consequences of Teleportation" by Vegavis  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/26711488
> 
> And of course "Battle Ready Armor" makes reference to another fandom entirely.


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